


The Hunter Becomes the Hunted

by lemoninagin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, BDSM, BOM Keith, BOM suit kink, Bottom Lance (Voltron), Clothes cutting, Coming Untouched, Fear Play, Glove Kink, Knifeplay, Knives, Light Bondage, M/M, Masks, One-sided/unrequited love, Predator/Prey, Safe Sane and Consensual, Top Keith (Voltron), flexible Lance, implied aftercare, or is it..., previously negotiated kink, takes place sometime during s4 ep4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 16:03:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12391482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoninagin/pseuds/lemoninagin
Summary: “Good. Now. There’s just one thing I need to know before we continue,” Keith’s fingernail scrapes harder as it draws towards the slope of his collarbone. “Doyoutrustme?”There’s a pause. Lance does it for just long enough that he knows it’s succeeding in annoying Keith. It’s obvious in the warning flare of his nostrils, the crease of his forehead. It makes Lance unabashedly harder.Finally, he offers a smile as he closes his eyes, and tips his head back in invitation. “‘Course, mullet. Do whatever you want.”





	The Hunter Becomes the Hunted

**Author's Note:**

> “The hunter becomes the hunted, hmm? Awesome! That's the tagline from like six of my favorite movies.”

Lance is heading back to his room after a long day of doing skits for the coalition. It’s the first bit of rest Coran has granted them over the past week, and he’s going to take advantage of it as much as he can. Images of sinking into his mattress, surrounded by pillows and listening to soft music that lulls him into a deep sleep, overtake his thoughts completely.

 

He stretches his arms towards the ceiling, yawning. The armour of his suit was discarded in the lounge, which he’s sure he’ll be chastised for tomorrow, but it's not like he really cares at the moment. He put his jacket on over his undersuit, so he considers it can’t really count for indecent exposure at least.

 

Tonight's performance went better than he ever dreamed. He knows this is all for show, and all good things must come to an end out here, but he's finally getting his time to shine. Shine his skills, shine that he can be a likeable guy with a broad space fan base. It makes him proud, to get the recognition he finally deserves. Yeah, things are definitely looking up.

 

It’s been ages since he’s worked a routine with rope though, and his muscles are burning with a pleasant ache. Without the armour bearing down on him, the undersuit has air dried most of the remaining sweat from his body. Maybe a nice, relaxing hot bath is in order as well.

 

Lance is mid yawn again when he notices something odd about his surroundings.

 

The lights seem dimmer as he draws nearer, and when he turns the final corner, it’s absent of the usual glowing blue. The entire connected corridor is pitch black, silent and eerie. _Must be a fuse out somewhere_ , Lance thinks, trying to suppress the sinking fear creeping up his spine. All he has to do is get past a few doors blind in the dark, no big deal. He tries to ignore the fact that the lights where he just came from are beginning to flicker, blowing out one by one like some outside force is putting on their own show.

 

Puffing his chest out and repeating a steady, even mantra of ‘ _there’s no ghosts in space, there’s no ghosts in space_ ’ as he walks, Lance still finds himself holding his breath. There’s something so much scarier about a ship devoid of light or sound, and flashbacks of the incident where he almost got sucked out into space filter back through his mind. His other senses adjust, heightened, prepared.

 

It’s then that he hears the disconcerting sound of how his footsteps seem to echo around him. It jolts Lance from his mantra abruptly. His heartbeat pulses in his ears. Glancing behind him, the corridor stretches out, suspiciously long and empty. Then again, he can only see about a foot before his vision tapers off, consumed and fuzzy with blackness.

 

Sweat beads on his brow, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. He must be hearing things, he convinces himself, taking a few quick, but uneasy steps forward. The sound returns not long after, now slightly out of step with his feet. Again, he glances back; again, nothing there that he can make out.

 

If this is some prank from the team, it isn't funny.

 

There’s a feeling, coiling tight within his stomach, threatening to push his dinner back up. He gets the immediate sense that he’s being watched. Gooseflesh prickles over his clammy skin as he thinks about how stupid it was to abandon his armour.

 

Lance shakes his head of that thought. Stupid, _he’s_ being stupid. Alfor’s holo program was taken care of a long time ago. There’s been no incident of the ship glitching since, and he’s been assured multiple times by everyone that there’s no way the castle is haunted.

 

It’s fine. He’s totally fine. What is he, twelve again? Lance laughs nervously. He’s almost twenty years old. He doesn’t need a nightlight, he can get through some creepy dark halls without dying, surely. As he tries to find the wall to guide him along better, Lance knows everything will be alright. His fingers keep touching air, but when his knuckles finally brush against a solid surface, he smirks.

 

Take that, illogical fear. Lance: 1, bullshit gut feelings: 0.

 

Lance skims his hand along the wall, knocking into a few sconces where lights should be shining. He counts in his head—1, 2, 3 of those bumps, calculates about how many is usually on the way to his room.

 

...Which is pretty much impossible, because it’s not like he’s ever paid attention to a minute detail like that.

 

“Ugh, seriously, where the hell am I?!” He laments, gulping down the lump in his throat, “Quiznak, Lance, get it together…this is _exactly_   why you were always getting lost in the woods on camping trips...”

 

The atmosphere in the hall changes gradually, like the temperature is dropping suddenly around him. It’s chillier, darker than ever the further he goes. He freezes in place, only aware of the thudding of his heart, the increase in adrenaline. Lance can’t put a word to it, a name to what he feels in that moment. It’s just that—

 

Something’s not right.

 

A loud crash that explodes off to his right instantly erases all logical sense that was edging back in. Nope, bullshit gut feelings are very, very real. This is definitely the end.

 

Shrieking in horror, Lance bolts blindly. Feelings and thoughts get replaced by a blur of instinctual emotion, raw and urgent. He’s just breaking into a full sprint when something suddenly snags him by the back of the jacket. Automatically, he begins to try and get out of it in order to fight against his attacker, but whoever it is utilizes his movement to turn it inside-out, and swiftly ties his wrists behind his back.

 

It all happens too fast to comprehend.

 

The sharp edge of a blade is cold and threatening as it's pressed against his throat. _‘Don’t move’_ , he’s being commanded. No words needed for that particular message.

 

Lance doesn’t have time to react any other way. He’s being jerked harshly somewhere, panic replacing all his previously relaxed thoughts. His bedroom’s not far away, and neither is Hunk’s, so maybe if he can make enough noise—

 

A gloved hand claps over his mouth before his scream can fully escape. The petite body at his back curls into him, and Lance hears the gentle _swish_ of a sliding door opening as he’s dragged through it.

 

The room he’s been pulled into is darkened, but familiar, both in smell and by the bright item hanging by the door. The hands release him, but the one with the blade trails, tip brushing him lightly, like a flickering flame down his chest and around to his side. It doesn’t hurt, but the warning is enough to keep him in line. With his eyes narrowing at the one lone, abandoned red jacket on the hook in front of him, Lance hunches his shoulders in defeat. He’s been had.

 

“ _Galra_ ,” he hisses, pivoting around, only to have the hands slam him against the closed door. Groaning as a fresh wave of pain hits his sore back and arms, he knows there’s no way he’ll make it to that bath now. “How nice of you to visit. What the Hell do you want?”

 

“Red paladin,” rumbles a deep voice from beneath a black mask, illuminated with eery, empty eyeholes laced in purple light. The knife’s tipped to the center of his chest, a brazen knee pushes in between his shaking legs. “I think you already know what I want.”

 

There’s a loose hood pulled over his captor’s head, but that’s not where Lance’s eyes are settling. No, he’s glancing down to admire the tight casing of a Blade of Marmora suit clinging to pleasing curves. The lean muscles bulging, the highly defined abs, those sloping little hips. He’d recognize those angles anywhere.

 

In hindsight, the height was _probably_ the most obvious giveaway, but Lance has never been one to be concerned about that when there’s so many better things to look at.

 

The mask suddenly sizzles and disappears like a puff of smoke. The cocky grin beneath it, framed by overgrown hair, is as irritating as it is sexy. There’s a tense pause, both of them staring the other down for a few heated seconds, before Keith starts laughing. He lowers and re-sheaths his blade.

 

“Holy fucking shit,” Lance drags in a deep breath, shoving Keith playfully away with his shoulder. His heart is pounding, every inch of him tingling with pure adrenaline. It's hard to convince himself that he knew deep down it was Keith all along. “Holy shit, holy shit. You actually did it. Do _not_ scare me like that again, oh my god. I really almost shit myself.”

 

“Gross. I thought the point of all this was that you wanted me to,” Keith scoffs at him, then wrinkles his nose. “Er, scare you, I mean. I didn’t come here to clean up your bullshit for once.”

 

“Har, har,” Lance spits back, sticking up his chin and huffing.

 

None of them have seen Keith in weeks outside of video exchanges with the team from Blade headquarters. Lance has been more annoyed by it than he has any right to be, since he knows Keith needs to do what he needs to do to help them. They talked privately about things before he left, anyway. No hard feelings between them. Handled it like adults, in more ways than one.

 

But just _seeing_ him isn’t as good as actually _feeling_ the warmth of his breath, the grip of his strong hands. He smells different, but pleasant, Lance notices. There’s a strange, sweet scent emanating from his suit.

 

There’s a fine line between fear and arousal, Lance remembers hearing from a lecture once at school. The ' _suspension tunnel effect_ ' [1], or something like that, they called it. His curiosity about that intrigued him for years, which was the whole reason they agreed to this in the first place.

 

Currently, that line is not just being crossed, but being torn to shreds in a blender where all fine lines go to suffer with the worst hard-ons of their lives.

 

Everything’s still going according to their plan, but the absolute advantage Keith had to catching him off-guard still has him reeling. It’s a little more overwhelming that he’s imagined it would be. Safe words cannot even be recalled as he tries to process it all. Lance closes his eyes, channeling his focus into evening out his breathing first.

 

“Fuck, Keith.” In through the nose, out through the mouth. He’s okay, it’s just Keith. He’s okay. “Fuck, shit. I don’t remember the word, the thing, give me a minute.”

 

Keith gives him space. He offers to untie his hands, but Lance declines.

 

“Sorry,” Keith says softly, looking remorseful, “It’s just that you spent all that time begging me to get you by surprise, and I didn’t want to, uh…” His guilty eyes follow Lance’s when they reopen, which he’s turned onto the traitorous bulge over his groin. Keith is raising an eyebrow, now amused, when Lance quickly looks back up. “...disappoint you?”

 

Lance sighs. Well, so much for pretending it didn’t work. There’s more terrifying ambushes in his near future, probably. He’s got a love/hate relationship with that thought for the time being.

 

“It’s fine, you’re right, you’re right, I totally did,” he reassures Keith, knowing how insecure he can get sometimes, “We talked about it a lot, I wouldn’t have told you to do it if I didn’t want it.”

 

Keith’s eyebrows draw together, low, concerned. He doesn’t look convinced. “You want to debrief? Don’t feel like you’re obligated to continue if you aren’t up to it. You’re...kind of pale.”

 

His hand reaches out to Lance, as if to maybe ground him with a light touch, but he respects Lance’s wishes and keeps his distance. Sometimes, it’s easier for Lance when he feels like he has room to breathe. Lance’s heart flutters alone from the knowledge that Keith remembered that.

 

“No, I’m good, buddy.”

 

Laughing, Lance cocks his head to the side, watching the abashed way that Keith begins to rove over his form more critically. The breathing exercises have made the room stop spinning, and he’s aware of his feet planted firmly on the ground. There’s no real danger, but his body is in a weird place, on an endorphin high where it’s been tricked into thinking he’s still being hunted. He shifts uncomfortably, pressing his thighs together to try and get some relief, wanting nothing more than for Keith to keep touching him.

 

“Amazing, actually, way better than good. Man, I’m an idiot. I underestimated you, I had no idea you were planning it like _that_. That was incredible! The lights, the temperature, it all felt so real. Who knew that Mr. Moody Hotshot was good at putting on an entertaining show! Here,” Lance arches his back, staring down Keith with half lidded eyes, “Feel how fast my heart is beating. That's all you.”

 

Keith gives him a far too innocent look after pulling a stunt like that, and pulls closer, raising his palm to his chest. Wide-eyed and fascinated, like he can’t comprehend the effect he just had on him. When he presses against his heart, Lance’s breath hitches. There’s something dark, something dangerous within Keith’s grin.

 

He skims his fingers down, just barely brushing over a nipple, before trailing off and removing his hand. Lance hopes his knees will wait before they decide to buckle beneath him.

 

“So,” Lance starts when Keith remains silent, “You get permission to run over here just to be an evil genius?” Lance nudges him with his foot. He’s growing more and more excited by the minute. “Didn’t know those Blade guys were that lenient. Guess they like to play favorites over there, too, just like everyone _always_ does with you.”

 

He hasn’t touched Keith since the night they fucked in Red before he left to work with the Blade. For a while, he’d been on edge trying to guess and wonder when Keith would strike, but lately he’d been so busy it had slipped his mind completely. The anxious, nervous feeling in the back of his mind had been building all this time, and it was impossible to tell from the day to day craziness of their lives what would have been a real attack or the one Lance asked Keith to give all those weeks ago, which was the point.

 

Desperate doesn’t even begin to describe how his body is responding to being within his grasp again, let alone on top of that mind-blowing rush.

 

“Don’t be like that,” Keith tells him, smile wiped clean off his face. Lance hates how cute he looks pouting up at him with that hood on. “I don’t have much time before they notice I’ve snuck out. Holographic doubles have a limit. So be nice.”

 

Lance perks up. Several devious ideas hit him almost simultaneously. “Wait. You made a hologram of yourself?”

 

“Matt did for me just in case I wanted to dip out sometimes. He got the tech connection from one of the rebels,” Keith explains, baring his teeth, which glint in the darkness. “Had to ask him cause I knew Pidge or Hunk would rat me out. And no, you can’t borrow it to do whatever pervy thing I know you’re thinking of right now.”

 

Lance’s excitement drops somewhat. Keith never lets him have any fun. “Ugh, fine. No holo-Keith watching us fuck around today, I guess.”

 

Keith crosses his arms, and sighs in exasperation. _There’s_ that confidence.

 

”What’s with this awful timing, though?” Lance continues, wondering why his luck is so bad after things had been going so well, “We’ve been doing a lot of work for the coalition lately, especially today, and I’d really like to just relax or some—”

 

“I know.” Keith’s smile returns as he cuts him off. His expression darkens. “Plans changed when I saw your show.”

 

 _Oh_. Right, the universal broadcast. Smirking, Lance chuckles when Keith moves in towards him again, and presses his fingers urgently into his hips. Keith breaks eye contact, his gaze drifting slightly down.

 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait any longer. The way you moved, I didn’t...didn’t even know you could do that. You looked right into the fucking camera with your legs spread all…” All what, Lance will never know as Keith trails off. A realization seems to light up in his eyes. “You knew I was watching, didn’t you?”

 

Lance knows better than to outright confirm or deny it. “You liked it that much, huh?”

 

Keith is finally looking at him more like he probably _should_ wearing a getup like that—predatory and serious, prepared to attack. He licks his lips.

 

Lance doesn’t get to say anything else to rile him up, because Keith lunges to his mouth.

 

Keith kisses with calculation. Keith kisses with just a little too much teeth. Not surprisingly, Keith kisses with the sole purpose of knocking the wind out of his victims.

 

Lance has never been given this opportunity before. Keith’s always been sort of weird about doing stuff like that. But having dreamt of it for longer than they’ve even been playing this game, Lance is more than prepared, if a little surprised that it’s finally becoming reality.

 

The only thing he wishes is that he hadn’t denied Keith’s suggestion to free him. He can’t tangle his hands into his hair like he wants, so he immediately opens his mouth for more. Keith tastes just as unbidden as this moment, all fire and boldness, and Lance is definitely moaning when his tongue pushes its way through.

 

Lance can barely process what he’s saying when they part, their foreheads dipped together and breathing staggered. It all rushes out with the rest of his breath. “Hold up. Do you actually _like_ me or something now?”

 

Keith raises an eyebrow, trademark look of confusion on his face. Lance feels heat rise in his cheeks. What a dumb thing to let slip.

 

“I mean, you never, you know...” Lance runs his tongue along his swelling lip, hoping that will explain most of what he means. “Kiss me like this. _Here_.”

 

Lance tries taking a step back, but of course it only presses him into the door. There’s a bruising, tingling feeling on his lips, and judging by the taste in his mouth, he may or may not be bleeding. None of this seems real. Not five minutes ago, he was almost positive he was going to die or be tortured. Now, he only wants Keith to fuck him into oblivion.

 

Lance swallows hard. He can't think. He can't breathe. All that he sees and feels is Keith, warm and inviting within the shadows of the room.

 

Somehow, after a few seconds, Lance manages to whisper, “...On my lips...your lips on mine…your knife...hot as fuck...heart, giving out.” He babbles on for about another minute while Keith rolls his eyes. “Thought I’d die, but your _lips,_ shit. So nice. Your lips! My god. Saved. Thank you, fuck me.”

 

“It’s not about whether I like you or not, you dork,” Keith says shortly, mouth curled into a tight line, as if he’s suppressing a smile. He glances away. “You need another minute, I think. You’re speaking nonsense.”

 

There's a split second where Lance sees the hint of a telling flush on his cheeks. That’s all he needs to see, all he needs to know. His eyes are locked tight on Keith as he leans in to brush a stray strand of hair back from Lance’s eyes. The way they stare at each is tender, intimate. Lance would give his life in a heartbeat for this man.

 

“...This is about trust.”

 

Right on schedule, any gentleness being offered ends there. Lance doesn’t consider that a loss, only a victory. Keith fists a fuller handful of hair and tugs sharply. Whimpering, Lance feels his cock jump against his suit.

 

“I don’t like you, Lance, but I _trust_ you.”

 

Keith’s voice is twice as serious as usual and very, very low. It’s hot and breathy in all the right ways against the shell of Lance’s ear.

 

“Oh yeah?” Lance grins, all teeth, no fear. “Tell me more, pretty boy.”

 

Nipping his earlobe, Keith moves to sprinkle kisses in a line from there to his jaw. A warm tongue rolls along with his breath, lapping further down and over the bend of Lance’s throat. Lance shudders, and allows Keith to yank his chin up.

 

Keith is never one to leave him hanging in any situation.

 

“I know you’d save my life in a pinch,” he murmurs, “I know I can count on you to snipe a line of enemies without question if I give the order. I know you’d have any one of our backs, that you’d even sacrifice yourself if it was necessary for the greater good. I’ve seen you do it.” Keith twirls one lock of hair around his finger, a ghost of a smile upon his lips. “However, that doesn’t mean I find you any less obnoxious. That includes even when I'm fucking the shit out of you. Understand?”

 

In that moment, Lance’s clenching hands would prefer to connect with Keith’s jaw, instead of the way they automatically grip into the spandex on his own thighs. Not being able to pull Keith closer is torture. He can never quite tell where the line of roleplay begins and ends when it comes to Keith’s feelings, but now isn’t the time to dig deeper into it, so he nods. Sure, yeah, he understands the jerk.

 

It’s not like he _wants_ Keith to like him, anyway. His hair and fashion sense is terrible, his temper’s wild and unpredictable, and he never laughs at his hilarious jokes. Trying to have a fun conversation with the guy is like pulling teeth. Lance swears he must have been raised by a telemarketer.

 

Lance doesn’t need any of that, though, to be turned on by his animalistic nature. To think it’s hot when he threatens him, or others. To look past that stony exterior, and be able to take in Keith for what he truly is—ungodly, unfairly sexy in everything he does without even trying. Lance can’t count how many times over the years his eyes have naturally roamed over the curves of his perfect, tight little ass, over the lines of that handsome grin that renders him incapable of doing anything besides being obedient.

 

So when Keith drags his finger down his cheek, Lance shakes regardless. His heart is beating like the wings of a caged bird, erratically thumping against his ribcage. He swallows any retaliating words that might have been climbing up his throat. Rewardingly, Keith slips his other hand to his waist, and pulls him forward.

 

“Good. Now. There’s just one thing I need to know before we continue,” Keith’s fingernail scrapes harder as it draws towards the slope of his collarbone. “Do _you_ trust _me_?”

 

There’s a pause. Lance does it for just long enough that he knows it’s succeeding in annoying Keith. It’s obvious in the warning flare of his nostrils, the crease of his forehead. It makes Lance unabashedly harder.

 

Finally, he offers a smile as he closes his eyes, and tips his head back in invitation. “‘Course, mullet. Do whatever you want.”

 

“Perfect.” Keith’s hand moves to the hilt of his blade. “By the way, the safe phrase was ‘mullets rule’, since I know you’d never say that unless you really needed to. We added it to 'mullet' after that incident where you wouldn't stop saying it out of spite and kept fucking up our scene that one time. This one's better for getting both of our attention.”

 

Lance blinks. He’s about to protest that, when he begrudgingly realizes that makes a lot of sense. Also, that he must have thought that before if they both agreed to it. Things are racing, things are slowing down. So okay, maybe he’s more confused than he thought. He nods again.

 

Keith catches onto it immediately.

 

“No, I need verbal confirmation for this one,” Keith reminds him, concern lacing his tone. It makes Lance melt just that much more. “And also, agreement to the guidelines. We only were able to previously consent to the moment of surprise attack. Of course, you had no way to know it’d happen tonight, so I want to make sure you’re still up for the rest of this. You mentioned you were tired. We can always do the rest another time, and I could get you off another way.”

 

“I am...sort of tired,” Lance agrees, though he doesn’t want to admit it. “But I really want you to fuck me. Please fuck me, that was so fucking hot. All of that. This. You. _Please_.”

 

Of all the times for Keith to pick an ambush like this, this is the one that’s most unfair. He’s so turned on and willing to bend over anything Keith asks him to. If only he had more energy.

 

Keith eyes him for a second, hand stalling on his knife. Considering. Knowing.

 

“I’ll do you one better. How about this. Without giving too much away since you like surprises, I’ll do a little ordering around and fingering. I know you want it, but I think full penetration is too much this time, for several reasons.” Keith flashes that winning smile in his direction. “You were really scared, huh?”

 

“ _Shitless_ ,” Lance says, “It was the hottest thing you’ve ever done, and you know that’s saying something. Scare me all you want with the knife again, too. I _love_ it.”

 

Slowly, Keith grips the hilt, and inches the blade from its sheath. He never takes his eyes off him as he does it. Lance whimpers with every reveal of more and more metal. Time seems to be moving more normally, and it’s excruciating.

 

Glancing down into the blade as if he's studying his reflection, Keith runs one finger along the edge. “And my new plan? Any thoughts?”

 

Lance keeps his gaze trained on the blade as he responds. His mouth is dry, his cock twitching in interest. He leans heavily back against the door. “Honestly? I’m not happy about it. I want to feel your cock in me.”

 

Like lightning striking on its unsuspecting victim, Keith brings the blade back to his throat in a flash. Lance straightens his back, attentive and alert. His hands automatically fight against his bindings. If the knife decided to make a mark, to cut through flesh, he’d be completely defenseless, completely at its mercy. The moan pushing past his lips comes as no surprise to either of them.

 

“I’m not asking you to be happy about it,” Keith practically growls, and it’s apparent he’s losing his patience. “I’m _commanding_ you to take what I offered, or leave it. It’s either that, or this ends entirely.”

 

“What?! Oh, so now it’s a _command—”_

 

"Hey _,_ good boys get to barter."Keith shrugs, backing down to twirl the blade between his fingers, then tossing it idly from one hand to the other. Now that he’s caught on to how much he likes the threat of the knife, Lance knows he’s in this for the long haul. “You’re not being good, you’re being defiant. So you lost that privilege already, you know the rules.”

 

Keith has a huge and greatly exploitable soft spot for his puppy dog eyes, which Lance thinks he’s pulling off pretty well, but obeying his orders has always been more appealing than manipulation. As soon as his eyes narrow deeper in warning, Lance caves.

 

“Sorry, sorry. Yeah, some knife stuff and fingering sounds pretty fucking good right about now, compared to nothing.”

 

Pleased with his response, Keith tilts his head. “Still want your hands tied?”

 

God, does he ever. “Yes, please.”

 

“Phrase again?”

 

Lance bites back a few colorful words. “...Mullets rule.”

 

He’s agreeing to disagree, but Keith’s following chuckle surges anger back through his veins. That’s probably the point, though. Curse Keith. He’s too good at this.

 

“Alright, go sit on my bed, sharpshooter,” Keith snorts, “You look like you’re about to fall over.”

 

The walk to the bed seems to stretch on forever. Keith goes through the questions once more just to make sure, asks him how he’s feeling and if he’s ready. As Lance plops down onto the mattress, he’s never felt more ready for anything in his life.

 

The signal of it starting is the moment Keith allows his mask to reform over his face. He approaches Lance slowly, blade held point-down at his side, a swagger to his steps.

 

Looming over him, Keith doesn’t speak, only tips up his chin and runs a gloved thumb across his lips. Lance gasps as it’s prodded into his mouth the slightest bit. The texture of the material is softer than expected—smooth and cool, like expensive leather. It feels almost fluid as he sucks back on it, watching Keith and wondering just exactly what expression he might be wearing underneath that inert mask.

 

Keith props his knee onto the bed, pressing it near his groin and forcing Lance to bend back. He pushes his thumb in and out a few times before settling the tip of the blade at Lance’s chest. Lance constricts his breathing as best he can, because with every breath out he can feel the smallest twitch of it into his skin.

 

“Shit…” Lance says in awe, fear and arousal blending together until he isn't sure where one feeling ends and the other begins.

 

He bares down on Keith’s thumb with his teeth, letting him know just exactly how on edge he is. All the muscles of his body are wound up tight. Keith removes his thumb, and the next thing Lance knows he’s being guided back with the help of the blunt edge of the blade.

 

Keith doesn’t force him on his back, thankfully, since he knows it would be uncomfortable. Instead, he helps shift him towards the headboard. Lance leans back when he gets there, breathing already heavily labored.

 

His eyes trace over the glowing purple lines at Keith’s chest, using them as a focusing point before he moves to the ones on his face. It’s easy to imagine the way the lust must be darkening the pupils of his eyes under those backlit holes. He’s been blessed with that sight many times.

 

But this isn’t just Keith anymore—it’s his _hunter_ , and he’s finally become the hunted.

 

The tip of the blade is re-pointed to his heart. There’s a black shadow where Keith’s mouth must be, but Lance gets the impression of a grin.

 

“You just gonna toy with me, or are you actually gonna go in for the kill?” Lance teases, knowing exactly which buttons to press to really get this going.

 

Without a word, Keith reaches with his free hand, and grips the front of his suit. He stretches it out so the material is pulled away from his skin. Quick and nimbly, he draws the blade in and down the fabric, slicing a thin line from his chest to right above his groin.

 

“Oh, fuck,” Lance groans as those purple lights point straight at him, boring into his gaze with enigmatic, ultraviolet intensity. “Oh my god, yes, yes.”

 

His erection throbs, there’s sweat trickling down the back of his neck. There’s going to be an awkward conversation tomorrow trying to explain why he needs a new undersuit to Allura, but Lance doesn’t care at all about that.

 

Because just then, Keith curls his fingers in on either side of the cut, and rips it wide-open.

 

One smooth, soft gloved hand slips inside and slides over his newly exposed skin. It catches over his hardening nipples, causing Lance’s head to whip back. The sensation is incredible, electric. There’s shivers of terror and pleasure shooting up his spine, to his cock. The tip of the knife has been subtly re-positioned at his chin, and Lance gasps when he notices it, knowing if he moves even the tiniest bit the wrong way he’s going to end up bleeding like a stuck pig.

 

Moaning, Lance only feels himself getting harder. A small, contained laugh shares Keith’s thoughts about that.

 

He doesn’t need to tell him to be careful, but Lance hears it anyway, like a telepathic rumble into his brain. The only thing he can focus on now is keeping as still as possible. It’s not the first time he’s had to do this, so his practiced breathing exercises return easily to him—Keith always tells him not to hold it, but to take even, shallow breaths. It’s enough to keep him from passing out or hyperventilating, enough to keep him from getting struck the wrong way.

 

In through his nose, out through his mouth. The less his chest moves, the less likely Keith’s hand will slip.

 

Sometimes, however, Lance entertains himself with the thought of what might happen if he  _does_ move. Sometimes, he likes to think about how it might feel if that blade dragged direct lines on the skin over his heart instead, lines that welled with blood and love.

 

_This is about trust._

 

Sometimes, this is all easier said than done, considering Keith is always testing how far he can push. He’s rubbing back over his nipples and sliding down to his tensed abdomen. Lance’s cock jumps, and he feels wet and sticky, too confined in the suit. Keith just had to stop cutting right before freeing his boner. Classic Keith move, Lance thinks, mouth curving into a frown.

 

He isn’t having too much trouble listening to Keith’s phantom voice from the past, reminding him to breathe, until that soft, soft fabric is hinting at the head of his cock.

 

His vision tunnels. It feels _so_ good.

 

“You still alright?” Keith finally breaks the heavy silence, jerking his hand away from that brief feeling of heaven and fingering back over the grooves of his hipbone. Lance’s head feels fuzzy with desire, with lack of oxygen, with fear of the unknown.

 

“Yeah,” he manages to respond, much higher pitched than he’s meant. He blows out the breath he must have been holding. “Yeah, I’m—yeah.”

 

“Breathe for me,” Keith’s muffled voice commands. It’s rougher, huskier than expected. “Relax, you’re too tense. I won’t let you really get hurt, you know.”

 

Keith lowers the blade to the side, giving Lance free range to squirm. They haven’t had the time to talk about it lately, obviously—how much Lance has _really_ been thinking about Keith purposefully hurting him. He knows better than to ask for it tonight due to Keith’s already strict rules, and the fact that they always discuss these things first before they start something new in a scene.

 

There’s no time. There’s never enough time anymore.

 

In this moment, and for who knows how much longer, it’s his little secret.

 

It’s all turning him on even more than usual, both the secret and the imagined threat of violence, and that’s what’s really getting under his skin. That, and the fact this is dragging on for _ages._  If Keith doesn’t do something soon, he’s going to cum untouched in what’s left of his pants. That’s just not as appealing as feeling those fingers up his ass first.

 

“I know, I _know_ ,” Lance whines, lifting his hips off the bed, struggling to get more contact against his groin. “It’s just, it felt really good. Please don’t stop.”

 

Keith nods, half understanding of what the actual problem is, and closes his hand around his cock. He gives a few rough pumps, allows Lance to enjoy it, allows him to writhe and twist into the touch. Whatever the hell that material is made out of, the Galra sure know how to make things feel amazing and kinky without even trying.

 

Fuck if he’s ever going to be able to keep a straight face in front of any of the Blades ever again.

 

Lance digs his nails into the pillow behind him, clenching and unclenching his fists, pulling taught at his bindings. He’s arching his back, biting heavily into his lip. On the brink of cumming for sure.

 

Safe words, safe phrase—no, he doesn’t need to use those, but he has to communicate—

 

“No, no, I don’t want to cum like this!” He’s panting, crying the words maybe, who knows, “Want to feel you in me, p-please!”

 

Keith immediately stops. Lance’s breathing rolls out in waves, each one harder than the last, rasping like a fish out of water.

 

The glowing mask only reveals whatever he wants. He pictures a Keith on the verge of cumming himself, pictures a Keith with an expression of barely being able to control his urge to go back on his word. A Keith that might give up all pretenses and fuck him hard and fast into the mattress. A Keith gazing at him with the utmost admiration. It’s obvious in Keith’s body language, in the shifting he’s been doing with his thighs. Lance isn’t stupid. He _knows_ that’s what’s there. It has to be.

 

“Very nice,” Keith coos, but there’s definitely a shake in it within that cool restraint. Lance lets a lazy smile roll over his lips. “You look really good like this. _Really_ fucking good.”

 

Keith sits back to admire his work, though he leans the blade in, now towards his groin. Lance swallows a startled yelp. It’s turned so the surface is placed precariously under his balls, though Keith is nothing but absolutely precise and careful. The weight of it is only a heavy warning when it bounces them up lightly, and by the time the fear fully takes its hold over Lance, he’s already blinked and the pressure is gone.

 

“You’re always so beautiful, so hot. I _love_ all the noises you’re making.” Keith slips the blade away from between his legs. “Now, turn over.”

 

Lance moans in relief. “God, finally.”

 

It isn't exactly easy without the use of his arms—but his abdominal strength is, if he does say so himself, pretty impressive. Impressive enough to make the movement fluid rather than disjointed. He stretches out his leg, tightens his stomach, and flips around onto his knees. There’s a gentle hum of approval from Keith.

 

“Spread your legs like you did for me onscreen, slut,” comes his next directive, and Lance would be a fool not to oblige. He sinks as far down as he can manage.

 

Almost a full split. It doesn’t hurt, but his muscles strain, his body shakes with tension trying to stay upright. Keith shuffles around behind him, and the weight on the bed disperses. After some rummaging sounds, Lance hears the clear pop of a bottle.

 

“You’re usually pretty greedy, impatient,” Keith muses, and Lance feels something sharp poking into the small of his back. Fingers trickle down his sensitive neck, between his shoulder blades, drawing a deliberate path. A palm comes to rest over the curve of his ass, squeezes until Lance moans again, just the way Keith likes. “But you’re being very good since I redirected you. Obedient. I like that.”

 

The praise hits Lance harder than ever. He snaps his head to the ceiling, cries out louder than he probably should when the fabric of his suit is rubbed without warning roughly against his hole. A hand starts spreading his cheeks as the blade drags to right above them.

 

“It’s been a long time since we’ve done anything like this, so you must be working on your discipline. I’m impressed, _sharpshooter_.”

 

Of course, now he’s going to cum from being praised. Damn Keith, damn this, damn how fucking sexy he is.

 

“T-thank you, thank you, but I already know I’m amazing,” Lance interjects hurriedly, “Fuck, if you don’t shut up, I’m gonna, you know—”

 

There’s a pause to Keith’s motions, and Lance sighs, centering his focus into the feeling of the binding at his wrists. He tugs against them, trying to let the raw ache of being held in this position distract him from crossing that threshold.

 

It’s a few moments before Keith speaks again, and in those excruciatingly long seconds, time seems to halt.  There’s a hitch in breath behind him. The authoritative tone wavers, an uncertain edge creeping in. “One last thing. Did you...did you miss me, Lance?”

 

“Of course I did,” Lance snaps without skipping a beat, giving up and letting himself fall forward, raising his ass high into the air. He shifts his face to the side as it's pressed into the mattress, so Keith can still hear him. He can sort of make out Keith, a mere shadow of purple and black, hovering over his body uncertainly. “I still do, I miss you every day...

 

 _Not just because I want you to fuck me_ , Lance wants to tell him.

 

He wants to tell Keith that he misses his rare smile, his even rarer laugh. That he misses how he complains whenever he and Pidge and Hunk goof around, how he snaps about how they should be more serious.

 

He wants to tell Keith that he misses his adorably awkward quirks. That he misses the way Keith looks at him after he cums, like the answer to the meaning of life is written clearly in his eyes—that small moment where he’s unguarded in the revealing afterglow of orgasm.

 

Lance wants to tell him that he sometimes spends the lonelier nights curled up in his bed instead of his own. He wants to tell him that he sleeps in his jacket, presses his face into his pillow and inhales, long and deep, dreams that he’ll wake up with Keith curled into him. Dreams that this war is over, that they’ll both open their eyes somehow to the bright blue walls of his childhood bedroom back home, in Cuba. That they’ll take each other softly, slowly, in the burgeoning dawn of a new life, with all the time in the world.

 

He wants to tell him that it _isn’t_ just about trust, it’s about liking all those stupid mundane things, too.

 

It _is_ about liking Keith. It _is_ about Keith liking him.

 

There’s no time in this life for them where he can say these things without repercussions. There’s no safe alternate universe that they can reach where they can just pop off to live out these daydreams. There’s no time for confessions in war.

 

So, with a smile, Lance summarizes it as best as he can. “I always miss you when you’re gone, Keith.”

 

Gone from Voltron. Gone from the Garrison. Gone from his heart, only to come back owning tenfold the feeling inside it. Always, always when he’s gone.

 

Keith must take that as his cue to jerk the knife down, because a loud _rip_ fills the thick silence. Cool air hits his ass, the back of his thighs. Lance's answer is only received in the sound of cloth shredding and tearing under an unforgiving blade. Keith’s breathing is hard and uneven at his ear.

 

It doesn't matter anymore, because words escape Lance. Words wax and wane into moans and screams. He’s incapable of anything coherent as a slicked, gloved finger pushes inside of him, as another joins not long after. As those fingers curl up, push exactly where they know how to hit their mark.

 

Those thoughts fall away, and shift into a pure state of euphoria that builds and builds. There’s only those thoughts transferred into raw feeling, feelings of love and trust and acceptance; loss and missing and rejection—

 

Fear of the unknown.

 

When he’s about to cum, Keith’s enraptured expression flashes into view, mask off, but the barrier might as well still be up. It’s exactly as Lance was picturing it, holding back what he really wants.

 

But he’s kissing him again when he’s pushed over that edge, _on the lips_ , and that’s enough.

 

That’s enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> [1] Lance is actually thinking of _[The Suspension Bridge Effect](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Misattribution_of_arousal)_
> 
>  
> 
> “I don’t know why I’m that way. Maybe...I’m naturally untrusting because my mom left me? And so instead of accepting people into my life, I...push them away before they reject me.”


End file.
